Nearing constant,
the pain in his stomach,
kidneys, eyes, and chest,
has turned Heavy into a monster
And with the blood
I've lost since I was fifteen
I could build a monument
that would shadow me-
and ease, if but momentarily
this pain, of sores and wounds
that the iron has poured from.
Yet I've squander the plasma
and its platelets,
on napkins and t-shirts,
and bedsheets
and finger-tips.
And when Heavy returns
to a state of lesser agitation
the damage he's done
will have him calm,
lean, fair skinned, exhausted
and utterly alone.
And the once aspiring Heavy
will spend days watching
projections of past lovers
and their new comrades
(in his mind and on repeat)
until he tears the screen down
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